


Finding Shelter

by intheheart



Series: Nirwen Lavellan [2]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Bisexuality, F/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-18
Updated: 2015-04-18
Packaged: 2018-03-23 14:55:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3772495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/intheheart/pseuds/intheheart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a story of my Lavellan and Solas by the fire after a sudden storm forces the party to take shelter in a cave. This tale frames another one. She reminisces to Solas about a night long ago when she was a teenage trainee clan hunter and got stuck in similar circumstances and received her first kiss.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Finding Shelter

Though they were well soaked by the time Cassandra found a cavern in which to pitch their tents for the evening, the dry place to stay was heartily welcomed. Dorian, wet like them all, always took it upon himself to deal with any spiders that might have lingered in the dark cavern. He knew how they froze Nirwen with fear when she saw them or heard their shrill cries closing in from the distance, and it was an unspoken favor he always performed, she knew, for her sake. Risking chills was worse than risking a fire in these close quarters, so flames flickered before them all, drying what clothes they had removed, as well as providing a place to roast the ram they caught before everything had gone sideways with Red Templars, followed by the sudden storm that arrived before the last Stalker was on the ground. The fire retained subtler life now that Nirwen and Solas were alone. Both of their companions had settled into their respective tents a short time before.  
  
Solas sat cross-legged near the fire, sweater and shirt drying with the rest of the pile. Nirwen, clad in underthings, lay with her head on his knee, vigorously rubbing her hands together to try and shake the cold. His staff lay at his feet as he added life to the fire with his hands. His fingertips wandered to her ear underneath strands of damp hair, stroking the outer edge and tip affectionately.  
  
“Relax. What are you thinking about?” His voice was even, gentle, and earnest.  
  
“Something like this happened once before,” she began, “when I was a girl, still in training.” Her neck stiffened and Solas thought to ask her what was wrong, but she continued speaking.  
  
“I've known love before. And I'm certainly not the first woman you've ever touched, Solas”. She laughed as he listened, continuing his affectionate touch. “This memory, it's just that my first kiss happened on a night just like this. Oh, but you don't—”  
  
“Vhenan,” he said, “tell your tale. The past is valuable.”  
  
Nirwen closed her eyes, letting the warmth from the flames and the safety of his presence begin to settle her mind, as well as her body, after the long day of fighting, cut off by the sudden, overwhelming storm. Distant memories stirred of similar night from years earlier. She began to recount that distant day.  
  
Whenever Clan Lavellan moved to a new area, one of the earliest tasks for the hunters was to survey the land as they secured supplies for everyone. They would create basic maps, which would later be filled in carefully with greater detail, with copies burned into thin leather for all to utilize while the clan remained. Nehnariel and Nirwen had trained together for almost four years, from the time they were both plucked from the group and assigned their roles shortly before their thirteenth birthdays. Already contributors to the clan supply, they still had much to learn, but proved a capable team. Nehnariel, armed with a bow, accurate eyes, and not a hint of hesitation, always shot first, with Nirwen's quiet steps, breathing slowed, steady heart, mind repeating short prayers and encouragement, arriving in place to leap out from the unseen, predicting the creature's movements, and landing a final blow.  
  
Death was often at Nirwen's hands, as were important steps to preserve the animals for their people. It was a great responsibility, and since entering life among so many humans, one she sometimes let her mind wonder how it was given to such young elves. Nirwen knew herself to be a good hunter, and had served her clan for nearly eighteen years since her training began. Yet, aside from the gods or her repeated phrasing that took over her mind in the moment, in daily life she wore her emotions. She was not one for stoicism, despite the precision in which she could slit the throat of a ram and tie it together to bring back. That was a process, a job, a necessity. Our clan needs food, leathers, goods, she told herself. “My body is a vessel for the gods and my people”, she thought to herself often.  
  
Nehnariel spotted a hare after the movement from a single blade of grass, long fingers nimbly pulling back on her bow, and suddenly, they had another for the sack of small prey. Nirwen's face wore little hint of what she had done, aside from the faintest traces of sweat on her brow. This was why they worked well together. They were paired up at the beginning, with each of them given starter weapons and sent to separate training. After months during which wooden training sticks and well-worn bow frame turned into a sharp pair of daggers with leather grips and an inlaid piece of carved bark, dedicated to Andruil, the girls began their training together in earnest. Their first test was one another, as on the hunt silent signals meant everything.  
  
Nehnariel's enigmatic face was tanned, rounded, with careful brown eyes that held worlds in them. Nehn was taller than Nirwen, another nod to their roles. The eyes did better at a greater height. Her dark brown hair was braided to one side, coming to rest on her left shoulder before trailing off by her elbow. Her fingers, long and precise, still held her inlaid, carved bow, a symbol of her progress, strung and restrung over time. A dark red quiver was one of the only concessions to lively hues Nehn made, and it was of the color of the blood they both spilled as part of their duty.  
  
“Nirwen, are you ready?” she asked, cocking her head and lowering her eyes. Nirwen's eyebrows went up as she nodded slowly.  
  
Then they were thirteen no longer, this time in mid-survey of new lands on a day where none but small prey turned up. The bounty was disappointing, though their scouts talked of rams and better prey when they chose this area. Nehn and Nirwen both carried sacks of rabbits, bags Nirwen always carefully perfumed with woodsy oil, a light coating to help mask the scent of death from scaring away other creatures. Both girls wore the oil themselves to not alert their prey. Nehn's habit of trailing streaks of dirt, sweat, and oil from her fingers onto her cheek hadn't failed. Nirwen noticed the pink flush whenever Nehn concentrated; one of the few signs of her focus before it was too late for some poor creature. Since the prey was so small on this trip, Nehn's bow was usually enough to make all the kills they needed. Nirwen took her careful steps into place on the appearance of a sole goat. Nehn's cocked eyebrow, the whir of an arrow, Nirwen's nod, then step into motion, “Invisible as the breeze” she repeated to herself, then guided her hands to deliver a swift end. Kneeling to secure the limbs with string, Nehn joined her, placing a hand on the seated girl's shoulder as she worked her final knots. Nirwen leaned her head toward the touch.  
  
“This one saved the day,” came Nehn's light laughter. Nirwen handed her the arrow taken from the goat's chest.  
  
“You can carry it, then,” Nirwen replied with a giggle of her own. Nehn mockingly pushed the goat away.  
  
Suddenly, the skies grew dark, the wind blinded the girls with dirt and debris, cracks of thunder angrily sending bolts to tear the whole sky open. The surveyors knew how to get back to camp, but rain fell in thick sheets, fog spreading low throughout a forest already strewn about with tangled branches and rocks. Mud appeared up to their ankles, each slipping where once surefooted, the cold rain soaking both girls rapidly. Their new maps weren't complete yet, and neither knew the area well at all. The camp was too far, and their best bet was to find shelter and wait out the storm.  
  
“Let's make our way over there,” Nirwen suggested pointing to some rocky hills up ahead,”maybe there's a cave or an overhang.” Nehn nodded, her braid beginning to uncoil. “Then grab my hand,” Nirwen offered, extending one of hers, palm up. Nehnariel grasped it quickly, curling her fingers between Nirwen's. A warm flash rose almost imperceptibly within the latter's chest.  
  
Nirwen's foot snagged a root as they walked, stepping through flowing mud that already came up past their ankles. “I see something,” Nehn said, pointing toward a dark shape straight ahead. Nirwen brushed an arm over her eyes, both to push back her sopping hair and futilely remove the water from her vision. There was something there. Both pressed forward to discover their instincts proved good about a cave. They searched inside together to ensure there would be no unexpected company.  
  
Rain soaked most of their supplies. What remained were their prey within the prepared, treated sacks, some tinder stones, a cook spit each, twine, and some binding sticks for carrying prey, but no firewood. Nehn slid two arrows from her quiver, crossed them, then began working the tinder stones together. Nirwen added one of the cook spits and all of the sticks and twine. Nehn's arms shook with cold. Nirwen stripped to her underclothes, then embraced Nehn from behind, trying to lend what little heat she could. A strip of smoke appeared, threatened to fold into nothingness, then sparked. The sticks caught first, then the twine, fire consuming the spit next, and finally, the arrows.  
  
Nehn removed her own clothes, setting them to dry on the cave floor next to the clothes already there. She walked back toward the fire and sat down again, hip grazing Nirwen's.  
  
“We should roast one of the rabbits while the fire still lasts,” Nirwen said, feeling her stomach remind her of its unfilled presence, yet making no move to do so. Nehn put her arm around Nirwen, gently pulling her closer. Her throat was dry and her breath hurried. They huddled closely for a few moments, availing themselves of the warmth from the fire and one another. The rains would slow, their journey home would take place in the tomorrow yet to arrive. Now? Now was warmth, now was one hand, fingers calloused from bow strings, entwining itself with hers, now was hot breath upon her cheek, and now was Nirwen's mouth greeted by the softest of kisses and anxious flick of tongue. She felt scared, curious, flushed, greedy, and uncontrollably pulled toward the source of it all. They both went in for another. Nirwen inhaled, and exhaled with laughter, feeling the fear fade as she looked into those precise brown eyes, now revealed to guard impulse behind them.  
  
The fire dried their clothes and filled their bellies that evening, but the simplicity of one hand in another represented what really warmed them.  
  
Nirwen curled her body into Solas', her voice imbued with reminiscence, but senses in the present.  
  
“We should get in the tent,” she said, but neither moved toward it. Her limbs grew heavy; body no longer wanting for heat. Solas ran his fingers through her hair, tracing circles in her scalp and eliciting soft murmurs of approval. He kissed her head lightly, sensing her body lose its tension as she drifted. He leaned into her embrace, feeding the fire to ensure it would keep them for the night before deciding to give himself over to true, quiet sleep; her gentle pressure against him.


End file.
